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RPlog:Seneal's Funhouse
A humanoid creature with sweaty orange skin takes the ticket without comment, hardly looking up from his religious holobook. The audio from the reading follows Jessalyn and Orson into the amusement park, with promises from some angry deity that all who defied the rule of the chosen ochre would be destroyed. There isn't much to this little park. It's seen its better days, though a fair number of people mill around here and there. Along the walkways, tough grass grows up between the cracks. Refuse crunches underfoot. Long strings have been set up overhead, heavy, slack lengths set with dimly glowing colored lights. Like a bunch of missing teeth, many of the lights have been broken or have simply burned out. Bored operators, who look more suited to work with a criminal organization than running rides for children, are slumped over the controls of dangerous-looking and rusty rides. Booths here and there hold some promise, hawkers leaning over the counter, already waving at the pair of Force users to come and try to beat the odds, because of course, everyone's a winner here at the Beachfront. A rickety looking thriller with complicated turnstills and loading platform gets set for another run, the shoddy repulorcoaster promising riders the thrill of a lifetime on Caspar's most consecutive loops. Creepy music and dark green fog floats out from a funhouse down on the corner, though no one seems to be headed in that direction. "Well," Orson pronounces, looking around with a frown. "This is nice." Even from their approach, Jessalyn had a feeling this place wasn't going to be a fun distraction, and the uneasy quiver in her stomach only grows worse once they pass through the gates. Standing still and turning her head in both directions, taking in the delapidated and obsolete feel seeping out of the very pores of the place, Jessa tilts her head rigidly on her shoulders, giving Orson a wide-eyed look. "Yeah, nice," she agrees sarcastically, folding her arms and adopting an almost defensive posture. "This place is past its heyday, I do believe." She chews on her bottom lip, focusing her thoughts on the stranger. If he was trying to lure them here, then he would know of their arrival. She was sure of that. Would she be able to sense him, as well? Wishing suddenly she'd warned Luke of the Jedi-stalker in Plaxton City, Jessalyn shuffles a little closer to Orson, sliding a nervous hand around his arm, and patting her lightsaber, concealed in the folds of her tunic at her hip, for reassurance. "Well," Orson repeats, tightening his arm around Jessalyn's. "Where to first? We'll just keep an eye out, eh? Check it out, and then go on to something a little more fun." Turning his feet on the rough ground, he makes eye contact with a game booth hawk, but ignores the pleas to come over to it. "Try a ride?" There is definitely something, and certainly a familiar, dangerous Force tickle at the back of Jessalyn's mind. For Orson and his less developed sense, it's more of a bad feeling. The hand at her lightsaber lifts to tuck her hair back behind her ear, as Jessalyn glances cautiously over her shoulder. "I don't know. Maybe something less likely to kill us if it falls apart. A carousel, maybe?" she chuckles a little, looking around to gauge the safety of the antiquated ride section of the park. A skylift catches her eye, a metal cage painted in gaudy, outdated colors that floats on a repulsorlift several hundred meters into Plaxton's sky. Giving his arm a squeeze, she shrugs her shoulders, conveying a private thought to him. _Something's not right, I can feel it. Maybe a bird's eye view of things would be nice..._ "That?" Orson asks, extending a finger. "I thought you said something that wouldn't kill us." Squeezing back, he sniffs once to hang on to some of the natural dignity and grace that always seems to be mostly just out of his reach. "Okay, let's try it." Stepping in that direction, the man has to wonder if this new feat will count toward his training, but the thought quickly dissipates in the more serious context. They reach the operator platform in a but a moment, the paint peeling from a sign which describes how much for how long the ride lasts. "Two, please" Orson says with a wave at the heap of sloppy man, who seems unimpressed. "I'm not worried about falling," Jessalyn says nonchalantly as they cross the catwalk to the platform, sliding onto the slick plastic seat inside the capsule. A rusty droid hovers nearby, ready to lock the dubious safety bar into place. "It might look like a disadvantage, but it isn't." Odd conversation, she realizes, chuckling a little as she scoots across to make room for Orson. Up until this moment, Orson had not been wearing his rose-tinted goggles, but something about the looks of the capsule makes him want them on. With a snap and some elaborate tightening procedure, they are secure. The man looks like he's ready to skydive. With a ratchety click, the bar snaps over Orson's waist too, and the half-door is clipped closed. "I suppose you're right," Orson comments idly, waiting for something. "This would be nice on Myrkr..." Conveniently forgetting about her longdead fear of heights, Jessalyn wraps both hands around the bar as the repulsor engine beneath them rumbles to life. With a clang and a shudder, they start to rise at a fairly slow pace, the park shrinking below them as the landscape of Plaxton City spreads out, a soft golden glow enveloping the place as the sun readies itself to set. "Not so bad here, either," Jessalyn offers, smiling at the sight once they are high enough to look past the boundaries of the park. But then she shifts forward in the seat to look directly down, scanning the area with all of her senses as she folds her arms across the bar. A pleasant breeze blows stronger, whistling through the half-open capsule, rustling her hair and clothing. With a wobble, Orson adjusts his weight to compensate for her leaning forward. Like an oddly weighted bulb on the water, the capsule tips forward. All part of the fun. "See anything?" he asks, before she's even gotten over the side. The park seems even dirtier from up here, piles of trash and abandoned things stuffed behind curtains and walls that one can't see from the ground. Various creatures wander around aimlessly. Here, a pair of older kids picking on another. There, behind a vending booth in the tall weeds, a pair of alien lovers. A maintenance hatch on the funhouse is open in the rear. As the car makes its way higher above the city, the door slowly closes, causing a ripple in the fog that was drifting out from that exit. "What a junky place," is Jessalyn's conclusion, shaking her head in disgust as she picks out a few details from below, and wondering if coming here at all was so wise in the first place. "I don't know, I don't see anything important." Though, the aliens in the bushes have the right idea, she smirks to herself. Leaning back, the car sways under her slight weight, and she chuckles as she looks over at Orson's begoggled visage. "Having fun yet?" "Well, this isn't so bad," is Orson's general response, finally settling back. "As long as we stayed up here, I suppose." With a rumble, the car reaches its zenith and begins a swift descent. "Oh," Orson comments again, gripping the safety bar. As they are lowered, the capsule is spun around a little, offering them a different view of the park than what they had when they went up. Down the long alley of broken games, some light strobes at the funhouse. A black hooded humanoid stands quietly at the entrance, face hidden. Slowly, gracefully, it lifts a hand at the pair. The sloppy man in charge of -this- ride shuffles forward beside the droid who begins the work of releasing them. "Five credits," he gurgles, holding out a sticky hand. Orson carefully drops the credits it in that palm before it can be extended any further in his direction. The bar that was holding them safely in place is lifted with a creak, and Jessalyn, in a daze, stands up and walks off the platform as Orson pays the ride operator. Her fierce expression is pointed toward the funhouse, the sudden tension in her body conveying to Orson her perceptions better than mere words could. Clenching her fists at her sides, the Jedi locks gazes with that distant stranger so focused upon them, her lips twisting bitterly. Finally, she looks back for Orson, frightened for a split second at having let him out of her sight. Part of her fears turning to find he has disappeared altogether, and she carefully examines this feeling, hoping it's not some sort of forebodance. She gives him a subtle nod in the direction of the funhouse, saying nothing. Quietly sucking in his now scant stomach, Orson carefully slides around the man with a hesitant grin. "Thanks," he lies, hopping off of the platform with a relieved sigh. "There?" he asks, tensing again instantly, following Jessalyn's gaze to the man at the entrance. "Well let's go." With a slow turn, the robed figure turns and disappears into the entrance. The entrance is shaped like the gaping maw of a child, big square teeth hanging down over the walkway. The child's eyes, above the entrance, are squinted shut in pain at having his mouth forced open this wide. Cool green fog drifts slowly from the darkened fun house, a short landing there blocked by a credit-chit operated gate. Little cars on a guided track wait there for their first riders of the day. And it's late evening. Drawing a deep breath, Jessalyn lets air fill her lungs, drawing on the Force for direction and calm. "All right," she says reluctantly, grasping at Orson's hand tightly. Following the deserted path to the funhouse, she fishes around in her pocket for change, paying the credit-chit receptor the appropriate amount, and giving the top of the device a loud bang when tries to spit the second chit back out. Quirking a worried smile at her lover, Jessalyn tugs him with her to the nearest car and hops inside. "Just follow my lead," she says to him, looking towards that gaping maw and the dark entrance waiting for them. In fact, there are several masked deaths wandering around the entrance of the funhouse. None of them seem surprised that a customer has shown up, one or two sitting on stools in alcoves at the entrance, talking quietly. One approaches as they come and sit in the car. Lifting long arms over Jessalyn, he cranks the seat restraint down over the woman and proceeds to do the same to Orson, who attempts to make himself comfortable in a seat that is too narrow for his shoulders. "Keep your limbs and digits inside the car at all times," Death says in a bored voice, finally revealing his face. It's powdery white, make-up no doubt, with big spots of black eye paint on for effect. Continuing his script, he gives the restraints a tug, making sure they've locked into place. "Welcome to the House of Fun and Horror. Prepare for a ride into your dreams and nightmares on this mystical journey..." Taking a breath and still mumbling, the robed figure shuffles off to the control panel at one side. Throwing a dramatic lever, Death starts the ride. Slowly reaching up and putting his hands on the metal grips on the restraint, Orson licks his lips. "What sort of ride is this, exactly?" he asks, as the car floats forward. A pair of other cars, empty, trail along behind them. Soon, they are at the edge of a foggy world of strange lights and music, a plastic forest being revealed as the cars roll along. Robots and automaton animals hop around, all singing the same words to some song but in the wrong key. One more Death is gliding through a pair of two-dimensional prop trees, exceptionally close to the track. As they pass, he lifts his head, black hood falling away. For Jessalyn, the experience is largely like a blurring of reality. Music slows and quiets, the overwhelming presence of the revealed man flooding the strange ride. "Having fun. Yet?" Ash Seneal asks, delighted grin on his face. It's a perfectly timed remark. Rounding a bend, the car tilts forward and rockets down a decline in the track. Suddenly, the pair is in the evil part of the forest. It's darker, and the music isn't intended to be quite as cheery. Dread runs cold through Jessalyn's blood as her heart starts to pound. Why were they doing this again? The sensation of being lured right into a waiting trap grows stronger, and she is unsurprised by Ash Seneal's timely appearance. Her jaw clenches as the car turns the corner, her head swiveling backward as she twists in the seat to try to watch the man. But he disappears from sight, and now they're in the middle of the evil "forest." Glancing around in the dimness, she says under her breath to Orson, "That was him." Jerking up and to the side to get a better look, Orson is thrown back by the metal restraint on his shoulders. There is no room to maneuver for the large-chested man. "Arck," Orson grunts, beginning a word but letting it die as he's jerked back around. "What d'we do?" he asks, facing forward and -feeling- his way ahead now. The ride has picked up speed now, banking here and there. There are more creatures in this part of the ride, which seems much longer and darker than the previous bit. These creatures, however, are long-furred and long-clawed. A dog-like thing complete with slavering white fangs lunges at the racing car but then whirrs and lurches backward at half-speed, the motor drawing it back. Death isn't in sight, but the Force users, and Jessalyn in particular, would know he's around, moving vaguely, swiftly alongside of their indirect course. Sinking back a little, and trying to relax, Jessalyn ignores the ride's ambience and the ill-designed creatures that do little to arouse fear. They're hardly necessary in this case, though they do make it trickier to discern the location of the stranger. Her breathing stills as she concentrates upon the Force, reaching out carefully to track the movements of the man. There. Yes, she won't let him out of her perceptions again, she tells herself, focus narrowing onto its target. Her face is hardly visible in the dimness as she turns her gaze toward Orson, but Jessalyn thinks he must be able to hear the rapid pounding of her heart. "Just wait," she whispers, not knowing any other advice. With a stiff nod, Orson brings a hand to the tuck of his tank top and lets it rest there. The other hand follows the metal curve of the seat restraint, where his fingers idly touch the locking mechanism to discern its construction. The ride banks sharply and coasts into a flat plane. This lowest portion of the track is all but submerged in light green fog and ultraviolet lighting. The cars whistle along, through the darkest part of the forest and away from the animals. Suddenly, there's a wall. It looks like the pair will crash into it with some speed, but at the last moment, the lines of a door appear and a passageway is opened for them. The scenery is much the same on the other side of the wall, full of fog and ultraviolet lighting, though there is a sense of a larger open space above them. With a click-click, the cars suddenly begin screeching, metal on metal, sliding along the metal track until they simply stop dead. "I don't like this," an ultraviolet Orson notes for the record, hand still moving along the restraint back, as far it can go. With a low breath, his shoulders fall, the mechanic applying his particular gift as quickly as he can... Fog swirls, and the dim outline of the nearest Death appears to the right of the car. Jessalyn's side. "A sporting pair, aren't you?" Ash Seneal says in low, even tones, simply standing still. "And I appreciate that, very much. But as much as I hate the fact, we -are- on a schedule." Something else familiar stirs ahead of the car, and then opposite it, on Orson's side, but only Jessalyn's alerted senses would be able to pick out the disturbance. Gasping in spite of herself at the proximity of the black-garbed stranger when he appears on her side of the car, Jessalyn's green eyes take on a fierce gleam, and she lifts her chin in defiance, even while pressing a restraining hand backwards against Orson's chest, as if to protect him. "What is it you want from us?" she asks, meeting Ash Seneal's condescending gaze, and surprised at the command and confidence in her voice when she feels so much fear. Picking up on the other disturbances, her gaze shifts in that direction as her body stiffens, the other hand creeping to her hidden lightsaber. _Orson, on your side. Be wary,_ is the only warning she can give him. "Simple," Ash replies, without a movement. "Your compliance, as I offer you to the authorities." There is an undeniable coolness in that man, bone-chilling emotions masked behind the perfect gaunt face. "But I'm hardly that optimistic." With a snick, something gives way. Be it from Orson's probing fingers or his careful manipulation of the mechanism through the Force, the restraining bar unlocks. Orson plays it cool, leaving it draped over their shoulders and waiting for the right moment -- not long now -- to pop it open and make a move. At the same instant, the ripple in front of the car and on Orson's side become visible. In front, a man draped in a Death robe, a plain-looking human wearing an eager, evil grin. He can barely contain himself, hefting the blaster rifle in his hands. One of those hands is wrapped in a bandage. To Orson's side, a lanky Rodian appears, practically melting into place as he emerges from the green fog. With his distinct modulated voice, he starts talking, snout quivering. "Dopo mee gusha, peedunkey?" He laughs, "Wuh huh huh." Despite his narrow arms, the Rodian is carrying an exceptionally large cannon, the nozzle of the device flat and horizontal, leveled at the pair. Ash appears amused, but eager to complete this, now that the fun is over. "Go ahead," he says coolly, with a tilt of his head at his two companions: the two from the woods, from the Temple clearing. "That isn't going to happen," Jessalyn says with a trace of irritation to Ash Seneal, and a little light clicks on in her head even as the beings she knew were there emerge from the fog to level their weapons on them. Swallowing, her hand wraps around the hilt of her lightsaber, fingers trembling as she tugs it free, and lightly thumbs the switch without igniting it. Recognizing the massive barrel of the decksweeper being held by the snide Rodian -- the Rodian, she realizes, who had attacked Orson before -- her eyes widen. The path of that beam would be wide enough to knock both of the Jedi out if it hits its mark, due to their proximity to each other. _Separate,_ she tells herself, and Orson, as well, in a split second communication, as she knocks the bar holding them in place upward and leaps several meters out of the car and towards the human male, her blue-green lightsaber snapping to life. The human in front wastes no time in firing off a stun bolt, a series of dark blue concentric rings zshu-whacking from the nozzle of his blaster rifle, sending them at Jessalyn. Ash moves with blinding speed. His black cloak is left without an occupant, and for a microsecond it simply stands there without anything to support it. It has been cleaved neatly in two, and flutters to the ground in pieces, lilting to the side. With a snap of his own, Ash Seneal lunges for Jessalyn, face enraged, though his every motion speaks of an economy that is only found at the deepest levels of discipline and unshakeable control. The snap is the sound of his vibroweapon, a rare force pike, the two-meter long device coming alive and whistling beside him as it cuts the air with the speed of a whip. Timing is everything, and Ash makes this count, moving to lop off the woman's leg at the knee -- opposite her sword arm -- while at the same time his man in front releases his stun bolt. Orson pushes his seat restraint, popping it out and to the front and rolling toward the Rodian, who crouches back, the alien being mildly surprised at the sudden release. While Jessalyn and Orson are in range of his decksweeper, so is Ash, and he dare not risk taking that shot. With a leap, the Rodian reorients to flank the amusement park car and levels his cannon once more. The deep hum of Jessalyn's lightsaber pierces the air as it flashes, an inherent grace in the fluid movements of the woman's body as she deflects the blue stun beams harmlessly into the ground. Landing with a light thud in front of the human with the gun, her blade slices the air once more, this time making contact with the barrel of the blaster. Sparks fly and a sickly *bzzrt* sound emanates, but the Jedi has no time to spare relishing the small victory, or to see what happens next. The tickle of the Force in the back of her mind screams now with danger as she Sees without seeing the angry swipe of Ash Seneal's force pike aiming for her leg. Without turning, her body coils, and before he can completely follow through on the attack, Jessalyn leaps high, backwards into the air in a neat, elevated somersault that allows her to land a good distance behind Seneal. Brandishing her lightsaber, she casts a worried glance in Orson's direction, refusing to feel her fear yet, and raising her blade with a battle cry as she starts after Ash. Bereft of blaster rifle, a frustrated henchman stumbles backward, tossing down his useless weapon. Growling, he moves to circle behind the Jedi, reaching to his Death cloak. The room is burning. The Rodian fingers the control to his decksweeper, focusing on Orson and letting the capable Ash tend to the Jedi. A bright yellow beam fills the space between the Rodian and the opposite side of the room, a widening band of crackling stun energy creating a crooked plane in the room for a brief instant. With a desperate lunge, Orson was moving before he became a direct target. Crouching behind the last car in the train with his body pressed against it, stun energy courses into one hand and an exposed knee, deeply numbing those points on his body. The Rodian stumbles back from the recoil, but seems delighted with the spray of the weapon. "Jeeska do sookee koopa moe nanya!" Ash's swipe meets empty air, but the seeking blade seems unconcerned, simply circling and coming back around. A second later, the front fender of the metal amusement car slides off, an angled hunk parted from the main vehicle like a bit of meat. Leaning over, the force pike down and at an angle, Ash tips his head at her. "Ash Seneal," he says cordially with a smile, teeth glowing blue-purple in the light. A strand of dark gray hair has found its way loose of his ponytail in front of his face, and he flicks his head to one side to wave it off. Nothing in him broadcasts his next movement, though Jessalyn's senses don't even need this to understand his intentions. "Conqueror of worlds. Killer of Kings!" With a neat spin move, he brings his force pike to Jessalyn's abdomen, but it takes a queer dip under her hands, around them, and comes right back at her from another angle. He's engaging the hands, attempting to restrict her range of motion and avoid the slicing saber. Orson falls away from the amusement car when he tries to stand, bringing him into the open. The Rodian's faceted eyes lock on and love it, and he begins stalking forward, pulling the heavy locking lever back on the decksweeper for another shot. Orson sends through the Force... Orson is worried about Jessalyn. "I'm okay," he reassures her shakily. The Force is with Jessalyn, however. It pulses through her, like a living conduit, and she is at one with it as her eyelids slip slightly shut, anticipating Seneal's sudden attack. It doesn't matter that she's forced to twist her arms into an almost unnatural position to defend herself from the underhanded move, and backpedals several steps to gain her equilibrium before her lightsaber comes crashing down, intent on severing the staff of Ash's weapon just above the point where he holds it. In the same move, the Jedi brings up her leg to kick swiftly at the man's abdomen. Only her connection to the Force allows her any perception of what's happening with the Rodian and Orson, but she strengthens that bond with him in a reassuring way, while frantically thinking of what to do to help. Orson clutches at his spent leg, breathing heavily and holding up a hand to ward off the next shot. In his own world, the Rodian lifts the huge decksweeper a bit more to angle it downward at the shorter man lying exposed beside the amusement car. "Je killya um pasa," he growls, cradling the weapon. It whines softly. Releasing his own vibroweapon from a sheath in his cloak, the formerly shooting henchman gouges at Jessalyn's blindside with a guttural sound. An angled blade flashes in the green fog, rising up and out from between his fingers. A particularly wicked vibrodirk, even now headed for Jessalyn's kidneys. Ash Seneal expected Jessalyn to be skilled, and knew the consequences of bringing his rare weaponry to bear against her lightsaber. His associates had already tested this pair in the woods. But he hadn't expected to be bested, not really. His hands open, and he releases the haft of the weapon to clatter beside its other half. Jessalyn's kick comes in with blinding speed, and it catches him in the gut. Pulling back on the trigger, the Rodian tenses for the inevitable recoil from the massive weapon. It could lift him from the ground at this angle. Light flashes, and the alien pauses, his back to Jessalyn and Ash. He turns, blank stare on his gnarly face, a tiny tongue of flame licking at his chin from the bored out black blaster wound on his chest. And then the Rodian is gone, Orson pushing him to the side and bringing his holdout blaster to bear, training it on the henchman as he rises to one knee. Ash appears to be the bigger threat, however, and the mechanic clicks off multiple rounds, shooting repeatedly. Cold sweat rolls off Orson's face. The blaster shots sizzle quietly past, eating green fog. Twisting away, Ash Seneal rolls with the kick and crouches down in time for the shots from Orson. Narrowing his eyes and looking at both of them, he backs away fractionally, withdrawing something from his jacket with the ease that a gentleman might take smoking apparatus from his coat. A tiny sphere. Time to depart. Only distantly is Jessalyn aware of her own surprise at her skills, the Force allowing her to react in situations that otherwise would have crippled her with fear. Even while taking pride in the physical skills and the grace of her body in unison with the Force, she's more grateful for the mental clarity which allows her to react with the fullness of her skills despite her fear and doubt. In the next instant after seeing Seneal go down with her kick, Jessalyn drops nearly flat on the ground to avoid the deftly thrown vibrodirk that just barely misses its mark, the jagged weapon whizzing past her head when she ducks down. Keeping a grip on her lightsaber, she pauses to look over her shoulder, relief flooding her at the sight of the Rodian going down, and Orson's blaster coming to life. Rising slowly, Jessa hesitates, keeping both the henchman and Seneal in her sights, not knowing who to strike out at first. "The day is yours," Ash spits, conceding the round. Bringing his hands together in front of his body, he crushes the tiny sphere. It explodes with a pop of white light, luminescence coursing through the room like a lightning bolt. Acrid smoke pours from the remnant of the flash grenade, lifting into the roiling green fog from its place on the floor. He had intended to reach in and pull her from limb to limb, but the henchman stumbles to the side, tears flowing from his burned eyes. With a sudden realization that it's every man for himself, he starts away along the track, in a blind run, tripping and moaning. Orson turns his head, late, but manages to squint his eyes in time. Everything is shaded bright red when he opens his eyes again, the rose-red lenses having soaked up most of the dangerous light. His hand traces through the air, arm straight. Half-blind, he feels it, knows he can make the shot at the escaping henchman. His finger tenses, and then relaxes. No... "Jessalyn?" he calls instead. Ash is gone, halfway through this room and to the edge of the dark forest, safe escape and retreat foremost on his careful mind. The loss of the associates were nothing, a negligible loss. Perhaps there was more gained today than seemed evident at first glance. The next time he faced these two, he would be prepared. Jessalyn also turns away at the blinding flash of light, bringing up her free arm to block her face as she cries out in sudden pain and disorientation. Staggering, keeping her eyes shut for fear of opening them to nothing, she uses her other senses to guide her through the acrid, stinging smoke to Orson. The others have fled, and they are safe. For the moment. Extinguishing her lightsaber, she returns it to her belt before reaching out with both arms to him, barely able to make out his silhouette when she finally opens her eyes. "Orson..." she speaks his name, choking and blinking against the smoke. With a pop from high in the ceiling, lights begin to flicker on, creating columns of light in this large room. A shudder sounds, and a large square of light opens not so far away from the stalled cars, the outline of a robed figure there in a doorway. It's Death, from before, trying to see into the ride. "Hey!" he calls out, standing on his tiptoes to look but afraid to enter the fray until the lights are completely on. "You can't do that in there!" Blaster shots have rung through the whole funhouse complex, and it has sent all the Deaths scrambling. "Just stay there, in the car for a moment." Orson looks over the Rodian, but turns his attention away from the grisly thing, cupping his mouth and nose into the crook of his elbow. His eyes are protected against the smoke, but still slightly blinded from the flash. He stands as best he can and grabs Jessalyn, their hug seeming more like a mutual falling together. The mechanic takes a shallow breath. "We should get out of here. Might be more." He puts away his blaster somewhere -- it never was really evident where it was stored, the man wearing a form-fitting tanktop -- and grabs her hand. One hand is tingling lightly with feeling just now returning to it, but his knee feels like putty, and it forces him to hop walk. "Are you okay?" he asks urgently as soon as they have cleared the worst of the smoke. Headed outside. An exit lies ahead. Noticing his limp, Jessalyn frowns, slowing her steps somewhat to accomodate him even as they rush toward the exit. The smoke obscures the two Jedi from view, while the robed ride attendants scramble to make sense of what's happened. The sudden rush of fresh air when she opens the door is a welcome relief, and she tugs on Orson's hand, casting a glance to either side in an effort to slip out of the park undetected. Wiping a hand angrily across her reddened, teary eyes, she pauses behind an abandoned vending booth, watching as a line of local security officials go charging through the funhouse's painted portal. "Next time... you get to decide what we do for the afternoon," Jessalyn says wearily, sparing a moment to cling tightly to Orson again, assuring herself that he's all right. Then she spots a gaping, forgotten section of the perimeter fence that's long past repair. Beyond it is the golden sands of the beach. "Come on!" Seneal's Funhouse